


Groovy

by glacis



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine's day brings Blair unexpected gifts from many quarters.  And a bite to the ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Groovy

_Groovy_

There were days when being a single guy really sucked. Saturday, Valentine's day, in Major Crimes when there weren't any to be had even by a desperate man, was about as low as it got.

Then there was Sandburg.

Jim Ellison glared briefly at his partner, best friend, and Guide, trying to decide if the innocent glow in the smile or the wicked gleam in the dark blue eyes told the true story.

It had started as soon as they walked through the door.

"Woo-hoo, Ellison, lookee there, somebody likes you!"

"It's either true love or somebody died and nobody told us!"

"Somebody gonna get lucky tonight?"

"Who's mister gotta have it today, huh?"

Catcalls from all over the bullpen. No doubt due to the nearly obscene proliferation of flowers covering his desk. It really did look like a funeral, or a hospital. The smell attacked his nose, sending his already hyperactive olfactory abilities into overdrive. Eight sneezes later he finally got his dial turned down enough to breathe again. Blair stood right behind him, a strong hand in the middle of his back, keeping him steady. Fighting to control yet another sneeze that threatened to knock him on his ass, he soldiered on until he could get to his desk.

Roses. Red and yellow and pink and white. A hydrangea? Purple. Some kind of long stick-looking thing with little orange dried flowers all over it, looked like a fungus and smelled even mustier. Carnations. Every color of the spectrum. Made his eyes hurt looking at them. An African violet, looking pretty damned intimidated by all the long stems and heavy vases surrounding it. Jim could sympathize.

Steeling himself, he reached for the first (perfumed, of course) card. Made his fingers itch. Somebody must've drenched the damned thing in toilet water. And that would be toilet, not toilette. Yuck. By the time his eyes stopped watering enough to make out the writing, Sandburg was making a choked noise that was somewhere between a moan and a chuckle.

"Uhm, man, I don't know how to say this, Jim, but …"

He didn't have to.

It was addressed to Blair Sandburg, Major Crimes. So was every other glass full of murdered bushes on his desk. He glared impatiently down at his partner. It would no doubt have been much more effective without the sneezes. One of which rocked the African violet nearly out of its pot.

Amid much stifled laughter, perfectly recognizable as such to Sentinel ears, Blair got to work excavating the desk. Twenty minutes later Jim was finally able to sit down to begin work.

He sat on a long stemmed red rose wrapped in pink tissue paper with a little plastic water jug stuffed on the end of it.

The water jug broke. His pants got soaked, right in the butt.

The stem had NOT been stripped of thorns.

It only got worse.

 

By ten o'clock that morning, Blair was ready to hide. They were coming out of the woodwork. Women, of all shapes and sizes, some he knew well, some he barely remembered smiling at. And they came bearing gifts.

Serena brought a plate of home-made fudge cookies. For him. The rest of the crew got tollhouse cookies, not a bad deal at all, but not nearly the killer chocolate orgy of the fudge cookies.

He shared with Joel and Ryf. Brown patted his tummy, stared with rapt longing at them, and managed to beg off the temptation. Blair was impressed with his fortitude, even knowing it was backed up by a girlfriend's threat to wallop him good if he gained any more weight. Simon hid in his office. Jim nibbled.

Carol from Records brought him a teddy bear with a bandit's mask and a huge bag of Hershey's kisses tied to its paw. He was floored. But he did kiss her cheek and thank her sweetly. She blushed so deeply he could swear he could feel it a foot away.

Jianne from Traffic brought him a Celtic knot hair tie wrapped around a bar of Swiss chocolate. He kissed her on the lips. Well, a peck really. She was six foot two and weighed two hundred and ten pounds of solid muscle. He was half afraid she'd break him if he didn't stand on tiptoe and smooch her.

Sam brought him Godiva. Grabbed hold of him and dipped him, right there in front of Jim's desk, and for a brief moment as he was fighting vertigo and hanging on to her shoulders, she stuck her tongue far enough down his throat to taste his breakfast. It didn't last long. Jim growled at her.

"I'm trying to get some damned work done here! You want it so bad, get a room!"

This time it was Blair who blushed hard enough to redefine 'puce.'

By lunchtime he was ready to go back home and pull the covers over his head. After all, it wasn't as if he had asked for all this.

Lunch was a hastily swallowed chicken salad sandwich at the desk. After all, someone had to stay in the office, even when it more closely resembled the morgue. And someone had to be there to fend off the steady stream of women heading for Jim's desk, but not for Jim. Blair quietly stacked his love gifts in the corner and tried to make himself disappear in his chair.

It didn't help.

In rapid succession, Wanda from IA, Myriah from Vice, Sheryl and Pamela from Homicide and three uniformed cops, Marci, Nichelle and Raya, came by with everything from boxes of chocolate to home-made cookies to a little stuffed alligator with big red lips and googly eyes.

Blair's blush became permanent.

Jim's growl became continual.

By three thirty, Blair tried to break the tension in his usual bouncy explanatory way. He was, when all was said and done, a teacher, and when he got incredibly uncomfortable, he fell back on his basic instincts.

Talk them to death … disarmament by avalanche of words.

Straightening up from bending over to carefully stack the large lipped alligator atop the bandit bear, he turned to find Jim staring at him fixedly, an odd gleam in his eyes, his lips drawn back in what could only be called a snarl, a low exhalation that sounded remarkably like a growl whistling through clenched teeth. He backed away instinctively, flapped his hands nervously, and felt his mouth fall open, words dropping from it in a torrent.

"You know, Jim, it says a lot about modern society when an ancient mating ritual such as the giving of tokens of affection or intent can be precipitated by commercial concerns. You did know that Valentine's day, as a holiday, was essentially invented by the greeting card industry as a method of selling their products at a time when paper and art were much more expensive to produce. However, the basic tenet is sound. It seems to fulfill some human need for members of either gender to feel free to express their appreciation for non-mated others whom they find attractive, even if those others have no articulated intent to pursue that appreciation, or even, for that matter, knew that there was any appreciation to begin with. Not that it's a bad thing, necessarily, to be the recipient of so much attention, it's just, like, totally unexpected, you know, so not what I was thinking was going to happen, just another day at the station, paperwork, routine, hadn't even thought about it being the V-day, you know?"

He paused to gulp air, reassured by the slightly glazed look in Jim's eyes. At least the feral gleam was dissipating. Waving his hands, spreading his fingers, making his point, he plunged back in. "Certain tribes, such as the Ntwumi of the lower Amazon basin, have ritual days where the social order is turned around, upside down. It's a misogynist culture but on that day the women have the power, they make the first moves, they are the important ones in the hierarchy, and unmarried women, usually the least influential group within the culture, are allowed the most leeway in their actions. It is a bit like Saturnalia, in ancient Rome, when the social order was inverted and the masters become the slaves and vice versa. There are some cultural parallels here, in that normally shy or retiring individuals are empowered by the societal imperatives of the holiday and make their wishes known in a manner they might otherwise never have considered-"

Jim's voice cut across his like a bandsaw going through balsa wood. "I never considered Sam particularly shy, Chief. You still got all your teeth?"

He reflexively ran the tip of his tongue over his molars, checking for residual looseness. Realizing what he was doing, he clamped his jaw shut, accidentally biting the tip of his tongue. The resultant yip of pain and total silence brought the first real smile he'd seen all day to Jim's face. He subsided back into his chair and nursed his wounded tongue. Mutely offering Selena's tray to Jim, who patted his arm in thanks, he settled back to working on his lecture notes and munched on a fudge cookie.

 

The kid had no idea. Jim had been getting grumpier and grumpier, with the constant traffic flow interrupting his concentration and, yes, he could admit it if only to himself, the jealousy eating him raw with all those women all over his Guide. Valentine's day had never been one of his favorite holidays -- in fact, it usually depressed the hell out of him. Then Blair had turned around. Bent over to put that stupid stuffed snake with lips on the pile of loot he'd been hauling in. And for the first time all day, Jim had seen the heart to go with the flowers. A perfect, compact, round, muscular heart-shaped ass standing there, begging to be bitten.

For a heartbeat, he zoned, caught in a mental image of him doing just that. The small involuntary noise he'd made had caught Blair's attention, and thankfully the kid had turned around, breaking the spell. Jim could feel the heat from Blair's blush, they were so close, and he dialed up his tactile senses to enjoy the shared warmth. He was so in synch with his partner that he could literally feel his heart beat, that all he could hear Blair's breathing in his ear.

It sent a shiver right through the middle of him.

Arrowed straight from his ear to where his heart was lodged in his throat, burned right through the road block and shot straight to his groin. Unable to make a coherent sound if his life had depended on it, he was relieved when Sandburg went into Professor mode and started yapping animatedly at him.

The kid had a beautiful voice.

Beautiful hands, too, weaving patterns in the air. Following the flow of the words, not paying any attention to the content, happy to lose himself in his partner. This part of Blair, this attention, this response, was his. And in return, whether the other man knew it or never did, Jim was his. Any time the kid wanted him, he'd be there. All it took was a look, a wiggle … a grin, and Jim was totally turned on. And it was getting worse. Pretty soon it was going to be impossible to hide, and then he had no fucking clue what he was going to do. Sure, Blair was a flirt, he did it like breathing. He had no idea, or at least Jim didn't think he did, that every time Blair touched him, he went up like a flare.

He sure as hell hoped Blair was unconscious of it. He'd hate to think his best friend was a prick tease.

A few words filtered through, something about helpless women, and Sam flashed through his mind. He interrupted the comforting flow of words, and Blair got the funniest look on his face. Guess he was remembering Sam, too. Whatever, it worked, and they settled down companionably to eat double Dutch chocolate fudge cookies and tap keyboards.

Under cover of the desk, Jim just got harder.

 

Seven o'clock finally rolled around. Jim looked like a pack mule going down the side of a mountain deep in the Andes by the time Blair got done loading him up with gifts. Blair felt vaguely unsettled, and put it down to feeling guilty about getting so much booty and making his partner carry the majority of it.

Simon had gotten the last of the fudge cookies. By the time they put the tray on his desk, they were both on a chocolate high.

The Swiss bar with the raspberry filling had helped. As had the mandarin dark chocolates from the Godiva box. Blair was more than a little wired, bouncing from the ball of one foot to the other, and from the tiny tremor in Jim's forearms, the big guy was tight too.

Or it could just have been the weight of the Valentine's gifts.

The ride home was tense. He tried to start a few conversations, but Jim was concentrating fiercely on the road. He looked out at the rain streaked streets, being battered yet again by an El Nino storm, and sighed. Talking could wait until they got home.

All the way up the elevator he was conscious of Jim's eyes on him, barely visible over the pile of packages leaning against his broad chest. For just a moment, he allowed himself a touch of weakness, a mental image of himself cuddled close where the gifts rested, no clothes in sight, their hands all over each other, skin sliding all over skin. Well versed in hiding this long-standing reaction to his Sentinel from his Sentinel, he quickly tamped down the need.

It was getting harder and harder to hide. One of these days he was going to slip. When he did, it would all be over, and he would be so gone they wouldn't even be able to track his dust. 'Cause if they did, if Jim did, he'd probably get pounded flat.

Before that little thought could depress him right out of his chocolate high, they reached the loft door. He took the pile from Jim so that the other man could unlock the door, since his key was, as usual, in his desk drawer at the university. Unable to see past the wall of boxes and stuffed animals in front of his face, he trusted Jim to lead him into the room.

Might have been a mistake.

Strong hands caught his shoulders, guided him inside, left him standing in the entryway. There was the solid slam of the door, then perfect stillness.

"Jim?" Some strain in his voice. He couldn't see his partner, didn't know what had caused the abrupt lack of movement behind him, but experience taught him to fear the worst. Could be a zone out. Moving carefully, he bent his knees slightly then bent at the waist to settle the packages on the floor. Then he tried to turn around and see what was wrong with his Sentinel.

Well, that was the plan, anyway. It didn't quite work out that way.

In a sudden flurry of movement, Jim caught him, holding him perfectly still with one hand at his hip and one in the small of his back … and bit his right ass cheek.

Chewed. Nuzzled.

Doing his damnedest to ignore the spike of arousal that went through him, he jumped against the constraining hand, not getting very far, and yelped in protest. "JIM! What the hell was THAT all about, man? I'm standing here minding my own business and you bite my as-"

Before he complete the complaint, Jim whirled him around, plastered him against the door, and proceeded to prove that Sam was a rank amateur when it came to oral excavations.

The top of his head was exploding, and it wasn't just lack of oxygen. Jim's mouth completely covered his, the tongue stroking his own was large, mobile, thrusting rhythmically along his palate, rimming his teeth, the warm lips sucking at his own, the gentle teeth nipping at his lower lip. Any thought of protest he might ever have entertained was stillborn, overtaken by a soul-deep quiver that ran through him like a tuning fork hitting high C. If he had been fine crystal, he would have shattered into a million shards, fragments of a rainbow right there in the doorway, and he wouldn't have given a damn.

Happily, he wasn't crystal, he was flesh and blood. Rather than shatter, the blood was rushing to various and sundry bits of flesh, and he was no longer a bystander, but an active participant in his own seduction. Because even though he felt like he had been run over by a bulldozer, it was a seduction, and a highly successful one at that. He didn't know how Jim had gotten them to the couch, but they were there, and large, capable hands were tugging his jeans and his shirt and his sweater and his scarf and his jacket and his socks and his boxers and his shoes right off his body, not necessarily in that order. Sometime in there he must have been given the opportunity to breathe, too, because he hadn't passed out, and Jim must've taken a break in there along the way in order to get naked himself.

Sweet God. And Goddess. And all the minor Deities. He was fucking beautiful. All solid muscle and soft skin, tight beaded nipples and trembling hands, strong thighs and rigid cock, seeking mouth and eyes … eyes … the feral gleam was back. Before his molten brain could figure out just what that would mean, those eyes locked to his, and that seeking mouth found its target.

So much for not eating on the couch.

It was the last semi-intelligent thought Blair had for some time, as Jim proceeded to prove that not only was he not a beginner at making love to a man, he could pass for expert in any cock-sucking competition. Between the hands spreading his thighs, kneading his ass and opening him up, and the hot mouth slowly devouring his cock and balls, Blair was absolutely certain he was going to spontaneously combust before Jim ever let him come. Using an unfair advantage that Blair was too busy enjoying to protest, Jim brought him to the edge and backed him off time and time again. Blair had regressed to a nonverbal world of sound, sensation and mind-numbing bliss before Jim finally, finally took the entirety of his shaft down that oh-so-talented throat and sucked hard.

Had he thought his head had exploded before? Silly him. This was true sexual fission, pure release, shattering him as he had not shattered before, ever, in his life. As he slowly wound down, drawing the tatters of his mind back to himself, he looked down at the man still gently milking him, and whimpered.

"Too cool." It was the only thing he could think of to say. Everything else was simply too big, too complex for him to get his head around.

Jim slid up his body, and Blair felt the heated strength of his erection pressing between his thighs. He tried to cooperate, to spread his legs a little wider, but his muscles were all melting into the cushions and he couldn't. So he tilted his head back -- that was easy, his hair felt very heavy and his neck very weak -- and accepted with alacrity the offering Jim made to him of his own seed. The slick taste was incredibly erotic as the wide mouth settled over his, tongues twining as Jim thrust against him. One broad hand cupped the outside of his thigh, pushing his hips into the couch, trapping Jim's cock between his thighs. The thin skin of his perineum reacted to the slick sawing of thick flesh against it, nerve endings still raw from his climax, causing him to jerk and shiver against Jim's thrusts.

It wasn't very long at all before it was too much to maintain, and his Sentinel, now lover, wrapped himself completely around Blair, thrust once, pumped twice, and came hard. Blair felt the hot spray of liquid under his ass, pulsing up into his cleft, across the clenching muscle there, and moaned. Wouldn't be long now, and that emptiness would be filled. His cock twitched at the thought.

A drugged, sleepy whisper answered his own earlier comment on fulfillment. "Groovy." He couldn't hold back the bubble of laughter that worked its way out of his chest. Jim grinned back at him. Wriggling in Jim's arms until their positions were reversed, he looked down into his lover's sated face, and felt a glow start somewhere around the region of his heart. Nuzzling his head down on that warm chest, listening to the thundering beat gradually calming as the Sentinel dropped into a much needed nap, Blair hugged him tightly and closed his own eyes. They could talk later. For the moment, in a topsy turvy totally unexpected way, everything clicked.

It was turning out to be a much happier Valentine's day than he had ever expected.

~~~finis~~~~

Notes: The song Groovy Kind of Love, written by Carole Bayer Sager and Toni Wine and sung by Phil Collins, inspired this story. Appended here are the lyrics. Deciphering which lines apply to which character, and their place in the story, is left as an exercise for the reader (if the gentle reader is really, really bored).

 

_When I'm feeling blue, all I have to do_

_Is take a look at you, then I'm not so blue_

_When you're close to me, I can feel your heart beat_

_I can hear you breathing in my ear_

_Wouldn't you agree, baby you and me, we've got a groovy kind of love_

_Any time you want to, you can turn me on to_

_Anything you want to, any time at all_

_When I kiss your lips, ooh I start to shiver_

_Can't control the quivering inside_

_Wouldn't you agree, baby you and me, we've got a groovy kind of love, oho_

_When I'm feeling blue, all I have to do_

_Is take a look at you, then I'm not so blue_

_When I'm in your arms, nothing seems to matter_

_My whole world could shatter, I don't care_

_Wouldn't you agree, baby you and me, we've got a groovy kind of love_

_We've got a groovy kind of love, we've got a groovy kind of love_

_Oho, we've got a groovy kind of love_

_©1966_

_Happy Hallmark day, everyone._

 

 


End file.
